


Meet the Swede

by surrenderdammit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Blowjobs, Castiel is Swedish, Dean is silly, Fluff, Humor, I have no regrets and no shame, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderdammit/pseuds/surrenderdammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human AU of silliness with a dash of smut. Castiel is a Swedish exchange student at Sam's college and Dean is all for cultural exchanges. Sam does <i>not</i> want to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet the Swede

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language - hah guess what is - so I apologize for any typos/weird grammar/etc. This is a total self-indulgent fic but I have no regrets. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**.**

Sammy’s new dormmate is apparently a rich Swedish dude majoring in Folklore and Mythology or some weird shit (Dean might be lying if he said he didn’t know exactly what that was, but that was beside the point). According to Sammy the guy’s a genius (and coming from Sammy, that’s got to have some merit), but about as socially apt as the cheese and bacon burger Dean’s currently devouring.

Speaking of which.

“Is he blond and blue-eyed and gorgeous?” he asks, because if he’s going to spend his lunch break listening to his kid brother whine about college then Dean’s going to make sure he gets at least _something_ out of it. Sammy wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Dude!” he says, but lets out a sigh of defeat at the look Dean gives him. “He’s not blond, but he’s got blue eyes, okay? And I guess he’s, I don’t know…good looking? Now can we please talk about something else?”

Dean grins around a mouthful of burger, swallowing with a satisfied hum. “Nope! You’re the one that brought him up. Casper or something, right?”

“It’s Kasper Edlund, actually,” Sammy bitches, because he’s a bitch and he’s whiny. “But he goes by Castiel, after the angel.”

Right, because that makes sense. Not. Dean rolls his eyes; figures it would be a nutjob. Then again, Swedish. Beyond porn Dean didn’t know much about them; maybe it’s a thing. A weird culture thing. Whatever, at least he’s got the eyes. Dean likes blue eyes, and stubble. He hopes he’s got stubble. Not that he’s planning on creeping on the guy, but he’s made a point of keeping up with who Sammy hangs with. Sammy says he’s overprotective, Dean just reminds him of Ruby but doesn’t mention mom because that’s low even for Dean.

“So, Cas then,” Dean compromises, because he’s got priorities, and weird names doesn’t facture in there. He’s not even going to attempt the last name. Sammy’s mouth had been doing strange things to make it sound like it originally would, and was probably mentally imitating the way Cas had said it himself. Sammy’s always been good with languages. “Bring him by Bobby’s place and we’ll talk.”

Dean ignores the way Sammy lets his head drop to the table with a loud thud and continues eating his burger. Sammy doesn’t protest because he knows better by now, and possibly because Dean looks like he’s been through hell already. Which he has, still is, but again; not the point. Dean finishes his beer with relish and tries not to think about the two jobs he’s pulling off and the ratty couch he’s sleeping on when he has the time.

They’d moved from Lawrence after dad’s accident; Dean had shoved the college application in Sammy’s face and when he’d been accepted, Dean had packed their bags and drove them straight to Stanford. Dean had managed to land a job as a mechanic, somewhat shadily, but Bobby was the type of man that just didn’t give a shit. Which is why it was so easy to crash on his couch and send Sammy off to a dorm, until Dean had enough saved up for a proper place. He kept stalling because even if Sammy’s there on a scholarship, Dean isn’t quite ready to believe everything isn’t going to crumble around them. One step at a time, he reminds himself. Moving here was the first, he wasn’t sure what the second would be. For now it could wait, because he had work and Sammy had classes and a weird dormmate to try and warn; Dean’s interrogations were infamous already. Jess was the only one who’d passed with flying colors, so far.

Sammy would resent him for it if it weren’t for the fact that he was only just starting to lay off the whiskey. He didn’t have time to drink nowadays anyway.

Hell, that’s was this was.

.

Dean meets Cas the Swede for the first time two weeks after hearing about him. It’s been longer than he intended but Sammy was almost as good at stalling as Dean was (he doesn’t know where the kid gets it from, honestly. Right). Dean’s commandeered Bobby’s kitchen while the man’s locked himself in upstairs with a case of beers, muttering about damn idiots and kids. He’s promised the man to save some leftovers of Dean’s famous chili and Dean suspects the only reason Bobby’s really letting him do this – apart from generally just not giving a fuck – is largely due to the fact that Dean’s actually the Super Chef. He knows his way around a kitchen, that’s all.

In any case, it’s with a wide, slightly manic, grin that he opens the door to a sour looking Sammy and his – holy crap, okay.

So apparently Swedes really _are_ gorgeous, even if they’re not blond.

He’s got stubble. And bed hair. Dean’s sort of lost.

“Hello, I’m Castiel,” he says, and damn. It’s not the same kind of hot as French or Russian accents, but it’s an accent all the same. He couldn’t place it, but it sounded a bit awkward, or maybe that was just Cas. All the same, that voice could make anything sound sexy, so Dean’s not complaining. At all. “It’s nice to meet you.”

He’s holding out his hand for a shake, clutching a bottle of wine in his other. Huh. Dean doesn’t waste time but his smile is definitely less on the manic side and by Sammy’s mortified face, a lot on the flirty side. Sammy would probably call it a leer, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind as Dean shakes his hand. “I’m Dean,” he offers, stepping aside to let them in and taking the offered bottle of wine. “Thanks, Cas. Dinner’s ready, just hang up your coat and…”

He trails off because Cas is currently slipping out of his shoes, which okay? Sammy’s giving Dean the stink-eye before nudging his friend. “You can leave them on; we don’t really take them off. It’s fine. They do in Sweden though,” he aims the last bit to Dean, face morphed into the complicated twist of Sammy’s Fascinated by Something face. Urgh, lectures on cultural differences are so not Dean’s thing. Unless it’s something to get Cas naked and into a proper bed with (which, damn, he can’t; he doesn’t have one at the moment. Unless it’s a hotel, he’d have to settle for Cas’ place. Which is also his little brother’s place, so no. A loud, big, fat and resounding no).

“That’s nice,” he comments absently, a bit distracted by Cas’ lips and the blush he’s sporting as he’s fixing his shoes. “Now food. And wine. C’mon.”

He leads them into the kitchen, which also serves as a dining room because Bobby’s a borderline alcoholic widower and probably doesn’t remember what a dining room _is._ Dad had been the same so Dean’s used to it, but wonders what Cas is making out of all of this. If Sammy’s explained what’s up, of if he’s just writing it off as some crazy American stuff. Dean wouldn’t blame him; he’s seen what’s on TV in this country. He doesn’t have to think too hard on what others would take it.

“So, Cas. What’s your story?”

And it begins. At least he didn’t open with “Where’s your visa and what are your intentions towards my little brother?” so he totally doesn’t deserve the sound Sammy makes.

Confused is a cute look on Cas though.

Very cute.

.

Google and youtube are very good sources on Sweden, though Dean might have been derailed by youporn somewhere along the way but that was totally not his fault. Blame chrome and the internet history. Also not his fault, he swears.

In any case, Dean’s now been reminded of how much he hates ABBA (it had been a _phase_ , okay, he’s allowed to have them. He’d been six. At least he hadn’t started writing poetry, weeping in the dead of night and stealing Lisa’s eyeliner. He absolutely had never, ever done the last one. Lisa can’t prove anything. Those pictures were totally photoshopped). Dancing Queen was a scarring experience but he’d bravely moved on to furniture and muppets. He’d forgotten about that.

There’s also a disappointing lack of polar bears and penguins on the streets. He wasn’t expecting any Swiss cheese or chocolate though, because Cas had looked offended at that and Sammy had made pained whale noises about how Dean fails at geography and that apparently Switzerland and Sweden are not the same thing only because the share the same two first letters. Dean deserved that one but he wasn’t going to admit it. Thus the google.

Sweden has apparently moved on from ABBA though, thank god, and they have a king. Dean wonders if Cas knows him, or the prince. That’s a cute prince, in an Orlando Bloom way. Not that he’d tell Cas, because he’s trying to get into _his_ pants, not an inbred Swedish prince’s.

Priorities, he’s got them.

In any case, Dean has always been good at researching even if that’s mostly Sammy’s thing, and he’s got a good memory. Speed-reading helps too, but he thinks he knows enough to have a smart talk with Cas without offending him by the time he’s done with the youporn.

Youtube. He meant youtube.

So that aside, he’s updated himself on the Swedish folklore and mythology and music (the latter for his own benefit. Metal was totally a thing over there). Sammy’s trying for passive-aggressive but coming off more like the petulant child who doesn’t like others playing with his things. Well, he can suck it, because Cas totally accepted his offer for coffee. _Fika_ was another thing, apparently. Cas smile had just _done things_ to Dean when he’d mentioned it. Yes, fika was definitely a thing. A thing he couldn’t pronounce, but a thing nonetheless.

Awesome.

.

Cas turns out to be surprisingly comfortable after their second date. And Dean’s totally calling it dates now. Anyway, it’s surprising. He’d seemed stiff and awkward before, but according to Cas it’s just another one of those things. Dean generally has no filter between brain and mouth unless he can be bothered to, so he asks him about it.

“People usually describe us as cold and unapproachable,” Cas explains. “We’re generally not tactile towards strangers and to some it comes off as offensive, I think. We’re really not, though. Cold, I mean. We just need someone to approach us first, sometimes.”

Cas smiles in a way as if to imply it’s more of an _I_ thing by this point. Dean can roll with that. He smiles back and leans in closer, taking in the smell of fresh coffee and sweet pie in the air around them. “You should consider yourself approached.”

 Laughing, Cas flushes prettily and entwines their fingers.

He’s not cold at all.

.

So, apparently Dean had sort of forgotten the “rich” part of Sammy’s initial description of Cas. He’s reminded when he tells Cas about his rather wild high school years and Cas responds with stories of his own.

Turns out, he _does_ know the prince. Apparently they went to the same school, at one point. Dean is by then not surprised to learn Cas’ got a title of his own but he’s not calling him a Lord, ever, even if Cas insists that’s actually his father’s title and could they please talk about something else?

“You call me a peasant and you’ll regret it,” Dean warns, just in case, and totally does not deserve to be laughed at so hard. Laughing looks good on Cas though, like he hasn’t been doing it too often, so Dean enjoys it for what it is even if he does a half-hearted grumble and shoves Cas to the floor for some retaliation.

He goes for tickling, because he can always kiss Cas to shut him up and breathless is another really good look on him.

Everything is a good lock on Cas, even tears, because those can be wiped away. Dean doesn’t have to do it often, but apparently the general consensus that nobles are asshole is correct. Dean learns Cas escaped his own kind of hell and wonders if that second step Dean’s been stalling for can be found somewhere in this.

Dean works a little less and laughs a lot more, and Sammy’s doing well in his classes and the scholarship isn’t going anywhere. He buys an apartment big enough for two and thinks it’s about time.

Neither Sammy nor Cas moves in, but that’s okay. He’s got a double bed and a guestroom, the kitchen is better stocked and he’s rarely alone anymore. He still works for Bobby and brings over his leftovers to share some beers and watch a game, since Cas only ever watches soccer or ice hockey and Sammy prefers the history channel.

Basically, life’s good.

.

Dean doesn’t learn any Swedish for a long while. Languages were always Sammy’s thing and although there’s an accent, Castiel’s English is better than some native speakers he knows. Also, Swedish requires impossible things from his tongue so he insists on some healthy exercise which usually distracts them both from Cas’ mission to make Dean somewhat presentable for the upcoming Meet the Parents thing that is looming over their heads. Dean might want to be offensive just because Cas gets a sad look on his face, like he’s defeated, every time he’s talked to his father. Cas might have even confessed (under duress, he keeps reminding Dean, who refuses to forget about it) that he wants to show Dean off like the rebel he is. Dean’s totally the leather clad bad boy in this scenario, and Cas always goes a bit hazy eyed when Dean dons his leather jacket. It’s a bit like seeing Cas in a suit, and mussing it up. Cas’ tie is never not crooked anymore.

But, in the end, Dean might have secretly trained to be able to say “I love you” in Swedish to Cas under horrifically romantic circumstances which he is never, ever going to share with anyone ever. He ends up whispering “Jag älskar dig” in broken Swedish after dinner while they’re snuggling on the couch (in a totally cool, manly way of course. There was Led Zeppelin playing in the background, not string music. He swears).

It leads to some amazingly flexible sex and Dean is forever glad Cas had found Lisa’s old yoga DVDs and picked up _that_ hobby pretty quick. Cas in yoga pants is also a deceivingly adorable sight, because Cas knows exactly how to stretch and jut his hip out to draw attention to the fact that they’re the easiest thing ever to get off. Dean’s perfected the lunge-and-roll-out-of-clothes that always follow, usually with Cas bright laughter being cut off by moans.

Dean is distracting himself again and completely misses what Cas just said, because Cas speaking in Swedish apparently triggers every and all happy memories of that voice making noises. Cas voice always changes, becomes even more guttural, and there’s a pleasant lilt to it that gets lost in translation.

It’s a sound Dean’s happy to listen to even if he can’t understand more than the odd word here and there.

“What?” he blinks, looking up from Cas’ lips to his eyes. They’re not any less distracting. Cas rolls them and sighs, exasperated but fondly amused.

“Repeat after me, Dean,” he says. “ _Hej, jag heter Dean. Jag suger kuk som om jag var gjord för det_.”

Dean narrows his eyes because something other than his name sounded familiar in there. He struggles to repeat it all the same, and his suspicions are confirmed as Cas breaks down into _giggles._ Cas has a surprisingly childish sense of humor.

“What? What did you make me say, you dick?” he growls, playfully, as he reaches for Cas and traps him before he can jump away. Cas slides over until he’s straddling Dean’s lap instead, grinning wide and prettily flushed.

“I made you say ‘hi, my name is Dean. I suck cock like I was made for it’,” he confesses, no longer giggling but leaning in close, breathing across Dean’s ear and making him shiver. Dean growls again, this time less playful and more heated, hands wrapping around Cas’ hips to bring them closer. With a sinful grind, Cas follows Dean’s directions before titling his head and capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Dean licks his way inside, flickering his tongue against Cas’ and groaning in enjoyment as Cas starts up a grinding rhythm against his own hardening cock.

He’s reminded they’re both in sweats today and can’t stop himself from biting Cas’ lower lip, hard, because he’s too busy sliding his hands past Cas’ waistbands (he’s wearing boxers today) to grope at his ass.

“I want to fuck your mouth,” Cas gasps as he lets them up for air. “I want to fuck your face, oh.”

Dean’s pressing the tip of his finger against Cas’ hole as he speaks, almost slipping it inside as heat and arousal slams into him with striking force at Cas’ words. The sense-memory of the heavy weight of Cas’ cock resting on his tongue, the salty musk of his scent, has him close to salivating and Cas knows it, too, the bastard. He’s pushing and pulling Dean until he’s on the floor on his knees with the couch at his back, himself standing in front of him as he drags his fingers through Dean’s hair and tugs, gently.

Dean’s slipping sweats and boxers down until they pool by Cas’ legs, eagerly, because Cas is making mumbling noises and it’s better than any porn ever. Cas still refuses to talk dirty in Swedish, blushing bright red and looking awkward whenever Dean manages to make him. He says it sounds silly, but Dean’s tried to tell him it’s anything but.

Cas talking dirty can never, ever be anything but extremely arousing no matter the language. With the foreign cadence of Swedish rolling off his tongue in breathless, guttural glory it’s never anything but amazing.

“Wanna taste you,” Dean mutters, caressing any naked skin he can reach in soothing, greedy strokes as he breathes across Cas’ dick. It’s flushed red and twitching; Dean doesn’t waste any time just flicks his tongue out and catches a drop of pre-cum before sealing his lips over the head and sucking. Cas’ hips jerk and he’s letting out a deep moan, putting both hands on Dean’s head and pushing, gently but steadily, until Dean’s opening his mouth wider and slips down. He relaxes enough to let Cas control the rhythm, humming every now and then as Cas curses and slips into what he calls Swenglish. It’s an amusing mix of Swedish and English that usually doesn’t happen but can be confusing in normal conversation. Cas doesn’t always realize what he’s doing, but right now, he’s fucking Dean with _intent_. It’s making Dean’s balls ache, and he’s got his own sweats and boxers down past his hips to first his own cock, looking up along Cas’ slender body through his eyelashes.

It’s a gorgeous sight. Cas’ lips are parted, bruised from their kissing, and his cheeks are flushed as he watches Dean with dark eyes. He’s pushing his cock deeper for every thrust, pausing as he revels in Dean’s wet heat, before withdrawing and allowing Dean to take deep, measured breaths through his nose. It’s a slow, steady rhythm and Cas’ one hand is slipping down to press fingers against his hollowed cheeks, his bruised lips. He’s whispering compliments that have Dean’s eyes flutter as he tightens his own grip of his dick and picks up the pace. Dean’s throat feels raw and his jaws are aching, but then Cas’ slipping out, still thrusting but pushing the head of his cock against Dean’s cheeks and lips. Dean works his jaw and pants, his own hips twitching into the rhythm of his hand. Cas is watching him with his mouth open, grinding against his face for a few moments before nudging past Dean’s lips again. Dean appreciated the break but sucks eagerly, moaning as Cas picks up his pace and curses over him.

“So good,” Cas gasps, “So fucking good. Made for it.”

Dean sticks his tongue out further, flattened against the underside of Cas’ cock, and sucks hard. Cas’ hips stutter, and after a moment he’s pulling out but leaving his tip in, free hand closing around the exposed, slick skin of his dick, jerking it with quick, eager strokes. Dean keeps suckling at the head, squeezing his own cock and feeling the familiar build of an oncoming orgasm. He won’t last long, and sucks that much harder before twirling his tongue at the spot that always make Cas twitch and falter in his movements. Dean’s lips and cheeks are streaked with pre-cum and he swallows down the generous amount that’s leaking onto his tongue with a moan. Cas’ close as well, and he’s cursing up a storm. Dean thinks he’s compensating for all the years he’s been forced to _not_ curse, but he doesn’t complain. It’s hot and he even recognizes some of the Swedish ones.

“Fuuuuck,” Cas growls, pushing in deeper again to bottom out, once, twice, thrice. He’s coming out and heavy, burning down Dean’s throat and it’s enough to set him off; his own had slick with pre-cum and sweat around his dick. Dean swallows what he can, lets the rest drip down his chin, before he jerks away with a shout. He’s coming hard, muscles locked in an arch, Cas’ hands stroking his face and thumbs smearing his come across his chin and lips with pleased, possessive grunts.

Dean’s glad for his positioning in front of the couch, slumping back against it as he comes down from the rush of pleasure that’s weakening his limbs and flushing his skin with heat. Cas drop down to join him, little kitten licks of his tongue cleaning up the mess he made of Dean’s face and it’s hot to a degree where Dean wishes he was ready to get at it again because _damn._

His Swede certainly lived up to the porn. He was _better_ though. So much better. God yes, he was good. Fucking awesome.

“You realize you just said that out loud,” Cas muses, shrugging out of his t-shirt to clean them up half-heartedly. Dean grins, hauling him up on the couch and settling down for some quality afterglow snuggling (that, he didn’t say out loud. Thankfully).

“Opps?” he says instead, grinning at Cas’ snort and he settles his head on Dean’s chest, twining their legs together. Dean waits for a moment before commenting, “And _you_ realize we failed to finish another Swedish lesson, right?”

Cas groans and hides his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean has no regrets.

.

 


End file.
